The Banquet, or Char Screws Up Royally
by Jingle For Goldfish
Summary: Royally, get it? I like Char, so here's another from his point of view. In the book, we get the truncated version. Here's the full story. Just a funny little oneshot.


"Oh, Char, you look absolutely stunning!" Mother clasped her hands together, her face glowing.

For the turmoil in my stomach, I was surprised I could afford her even a nervous smile. They talked about butterflies, but it felt more like a hunting party chasing a stag—with horns—around and around my body. My _whole_ body, not just my stomach. The queasy, churning feeling pervaded every inch of me. I was fairly trembling where I stood.

Mother must have sensed it. She held out her hands, lacquered fingernails gleaming in the light of the hall chandelier.

"Come here, son." She took my face between her palms and stared down into my eyes. "You are going to do just fine," she said. "I promise. These banquets are never as much as your father makes them out to be. Just remember your manners. Be polite to everyone—I believe we're seated near Sir Peter, of Frell, and his wife, Lady Eleanor."

I tried to stifle my disappointment at this sudden news, but in my state of anxiety, a small groan slipped out. Mother's smile wavered. "What is it?"

"Mother… Sir _Peter_, the merchant?"

"He's a perfectly respectable man, Charmont."

"But he's so _boring_. How am I supposed to make pleasant conversation with a man who does nothing but plot opportunities to increase his wealth? It's hardly a secret why he married Lady Eleanor."

"Char."

"They're not even in the _peerage_, Mother. They're only _commoners_."

A blood-red nail was suddenly hovering before my nose. "You will certainly keep _that_ kind of language to yourself, young man," said Mother in a low, quick voice. "It makes no difference where they're from. They are members of _your_ kingdom, and you will treat them with the same respect you treat your father and myself. Is that quite clear?"

I sulked. "Yes, Mother."

She lowered her finger, and the smile returned. Her hands went to my shoulders and squeezed. "You will do fine," she repeated. "You will like Lady Eleanor. She's an absolute darling."

I doubted it. Look at her choice of husband. "Yes, Mother."

"I can't believe you still haven't met her," she said, mostly to herself. "They've been married for… oh, let me see. Thirteen years? You were too young to bring to the wedding, but you were beginning to walk… I think that's about right. My, you certainly are growing up, aren't you? Your first banquet. You ought to be excited—but really, Char, there's no need to be _nervous_. Hardly anything is expected of you. Just carry yourself with as much dignity as you always do, and I promise not a soul will go away thinking anything but the best of you."

I managed a smile. "Thank you, Mother."

She patted my hand. "Where is that father of yours?"

As if on cue, Father appeared in the doorway. He nodded at me and smiled at Mother. "Daria," he said, sweeping close and taking her hands in his.

"Jerrold," said Mother, raising her eyebrows.

They embraced and shared a quick kiss. I didn't have time to look away. Father caught my disgusted expression and chuckled. "Ready for your big entrance, Char?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy."

Behind the door to the dining hall, a chatter was building up. The guests had been seated. My nerves flared, and I shivered. Mother touched my arm, but it didn't help much. The guests were silenced. I could hear Brandon's voice through the heavy door.

"Presenting the Royal Family of Kyrria: His Highness, King Jerrold; Her Highness, Queen Daria; and His Highness, Prince Charmont."

Mother grabbed my wrist and propelled me across to stand on Father's other side. She grasped his elbow, and he put a hand on my back. I swallowed. The door creaked open.

The sound as everyone stood up was like a distant roll of thunder. There were so many of them. Fifty at least, lined up and down two long tables laden with food. I could only imagine the time it must have taken for Rachel, our cook, to get everything done.

Father started to move forward, taking me with him. If it weren't for that, I thought I might have stayed frozen on the threshold. So many eyes were on me. I was a fish in a pond. I inhaled through my nose and focused my eyes on the far wall.

Father guided me to my seat, and I managed to sit. The throng of guests followed suit. I was across the table from a pretty woman, younger than my mother, who smiled warmly at me as she regained her seat. I'm afraid I couldn't adjust my nerve-stricken face in time to smile back before the man beside her—a face I certainly recognized—took her hand and leaned forward.

"Your Highness," he said, ducking his head slightly in an abbreviated bow. "It is my immense pleasure to meet you again."

"Sir Peter," I managed to respond after a moment's hesitation. "Likewise."

"Please allow me to introduce my wife, Eleanor," he said, and the young woman smiled again. Something about her put me entirely at ease.

"A pleasure, Lady Eleanor," I said. "I'm Char. Mont. Charmont. My name is Charmont. The—um. The prince."

I clamped my mouth shut and stole a glance toward my parents. Their attention was elsewhere. I was on my own.

Sir Peter raised an eyebrow, but Lady Eleanor's smile widened.

"The pleasure is mine, Prince Charmont."

At the end of the next table, High Chancellor Thomas stood up. The chatter died down.

"My friends," said the High Chancellor in his slow, monotonous voice, "before we begin our meal, I would speak a few words in honor of our great country, and the great family who sits, ever steadfast, at her head."

There was soft applause. Lady Eleanor pursed her lips and muttered something which sounded like, "Here we go."

Sir Peter nudged her, and she blinked innocently. My mouth twitched. She was right, in my opinion. We could all do perfectly well without ever in our lives having to sit through another of the High Chancellor's speeches.

Of course, I had to pretend to be enraptured. I sat perfectly still, eyes trained on him, for a full fifteen minutes. When he was still talking after twenty minutes, however, with no end in sight, my eyes began to wander. I wasn't the only one. Heads were nodding here and there. Ladies were picking at their fingernails, men at their cufflinks. Lady Eleanor was fidgeting with her napkin. I turned my head to examine the rest of the table. A mistake. My father caught my eye, and his brow furrowed. I snapped back to attention.

Ten more minutes passed. There was a definite snoring off to my right. I longed to see who it was, but I wouldn't risk Father seeing me again. I was supposed to act composed. Like a prince. I kept my eyes focused on the High Chancellor. Lady Eleanor was fidgeting again, but I didn't look at what she was doing.

After an eternity, the man began to conclude. People were nudged awake. Someone's stomach growled. I relaxed my eyes, which were beginning to feel fuzzy. Lady Eleanor cleared her throat, ever so slightly.

She coughed again, and I glanced at her. She moved her napkin. She had folded it into a laughingly accurate profile of the High Chancellor himself. She had captured his prominent chin, curling nose, and small, wide-set eyes. Except for the pale blue coloring, it looked exactly like him.

I couldn't help myself. I snorted.

I clapped a hand over my mouth and locked my gaze on the High Chancellor, though I felt a few heads turn on either side of me. Two of them had to belong to my parents. That was it. No more slip-ups. I would be the picture of composure for the rest of the night.

My eyes had other plans, however. They would not sit still. They rolled about in my skull, desperate for something even vaguely interesting to watch. Completely of their own design, they landed once more on Lady Eleanor's napkin. Now she was moving it in synchronization with the High Chancellor's words so that the chin moved when he spoke. The napkin was talking to me.

Sir Peter finally saw what she was doing. Quickly, he grabbed at the napkin. His finger went up the High Chancellor's nostril.

That did it. I snorted again. And again. My lungs were heaving with the effort of fighting back laughter. More than one set of eyes were now fixed on me. There was only one appropriate course of action. I stood from the table and looked deliberately away from the hilarious woman I'd had the misfortune of meeting that evening. "Excuse me," I said. My words were short. If I allowed too much breath to escape, I feared I might explode with mirth. "I apologize. I—" Snort. "Ihavetogo."

The High Chancellor had paused. I turned on my heel and strode from the hall, confident that every single pair of eyes was watching my retreat. Father was going to be furious. I found myself grinning. I didn't even care.

I made my way quickly up to my room and out to the balcony, where I finally broke down and giggled to myself for easily twenty minutes. By the time I had finished, I was sore from laughing, and I had nearly forgotten what was so funny in the first place.

Lady Eleanor. So she had folded a napkin. So what? Father _was_ going to be furious, and if he came up now I didn't even think I could sit through a lecture with a straight face. What was so funny about her?

I hoisted myself onto the wide railing and hugged my knees to my chest. The view from up here was wonderful. The countryside opened before me, a dark, velvety blanket dotted with manors and huts and trees. It was beautiful—a far better use of time than that stuffy banquet. I took in a lungful of fresh air and let it out slowly. For the first time since that morning, I felt genuinely content.

Strangely enough, it had been a good night.


End file.
